The Pain of My Children...

     The time as moved forward, whether we wanted it to or not.  Everyone wears a smile...a mask.  Is it to put on a front for others, or is it to put on a front for ourselves? 
     I have been fairly open with my own journey through this darkness.  Although in all honesty, I haven't even allowed myself to go to that lonely, painful place for more then seconds at a time.  It is too hard, too sad, too dark, too empty....too much.  I have tried to help my kids as much as I can.  But even with me, they wear their masks.  I suppose I wear it with them as well.   Perhaps we're all too afraid to show each other how we really feel?  Afraid we will bring each other into that place where none of us are ready to go?  Little by little they share their tears...I share mine.  In watching my kids move forward so bravely, yet suffer so silently,  I am learning that we have to go to that place we are so afraid of.  Even if it's a little bit at a time.  We have no choice...the masks are beginning to tear as the reality of what is takes over.
     Loss of focus, loss of dreams, loss of passions, loss of closeness with people...anger, sadness, physical illnesses, constant fear with every breath taken.  This is what has become of my children.  These are my children...and I love them.  I sadly know the greatest pain a mother could endure is the loss of her child.  I believe the second is to watch her children suffer.  I know my own mom has carried that pain as she witnessed my heart break, and I am witnessing that very pain in my own children.  At times it feels overwhelming, yet somehow I find the strength to be there for, and with them.  I ask God to help me....and I keep trying.
     They have all had their worlds turned upside down.  They have had their very hearts broken apart.  Their dreams of the future ripped into a million pieces.  They have tried to move on, and have done so as well as could be expected.  They have shown great courage, strength, and grace.  But they are wounded, traumatized, and forever changed.  Like myself, they are NOT the same people they were before they lost their brother.  Over the past few months, as their masks have worn thin, I have seen glimpses of the deep pain they carry still....confusion of not knowing how to get through the next day, sometimes not even caring if they do, the painful reality that their brother is really gone, the longing for what could have been and should have been, the anger of it all...which no doubt is in reality the uspeakable sadness they carry, the constant fear of dying...or losing me,  which mainfests itself relentlessly, and the need to talk about the pain, yet fear of going into that darkness.
     My children are in pain....anyone close enough to them sees what they try so hard not to show.  Those are the friends I am so grateful they have.  I will continue to do all I can to help them, but I know I can not make it better.  That is hard, but it is the truth.  They are all so very close, and one of them now is missing.  They all feel the loss with great intensity and sadness.  I just pray God holds them all, while He leads me.  The Pain of My Children...it's unimaginable.

Strength in Tragedy....

     During the past year I have questioned my strength and endurance numerous times.  What I considered to be strong before, doesn't seem to be strength now.  What I use to see as weakness, now glimmers with the light of strength.  When you are faced with the tragedy of losing a child, you are given a lifetime of challenges to overcome, or at least endure.  In these challenges, you continually question yourself in every step you take.  Am I doing this right, can I really survive, will I ever really feel joy again, am I helping my kids to endure what they should never have had to endure...do I have the strength?

     Is it being strong to put your mask on and move forward as if things are normal...or is real strength removing that mask and letting everyone know you no longer have a normal existence?  Is it being strong to stand upright with a smile on your face...or is real strength letting the tears flow, and anxiety show?  Is it strong to celebrate the joy of your son's friends...or is real strength admitting that although you are happy for them, it breaks your heart that your son is missing out on all of the celebrations?  Is it strong to act like it doesn't hurt deeply when people don't speak about your son anymore...or is real strength speaking up and saying you need them to talk about him...or at least acknowledge it when you do?  Is it strong to pretend you're not hurt by those who don't reach out...or is real strength admitting you are, and then setting boundaries for yourself so you can't be hurt anymore then you already have been?  Is it strong to forge forward on those days you can barely get out of bed...or is real strength staying in bed and allowing yourself to just feel the sadness you are so deeply afraid of?  Is it strong to say your son is in a better place, at peace, and completely happy...or is real strength knowing this, yet still being able to say the pain of missing him is overwhelming, devastating, and all consuming?  Is it strong to bravely face all your daily responsibilities...or is real strength taking time out to nurture your bleeding soul?  What is strength in tragedy??

     I don't know the answers, but I do know I have done all of the above.  With the Grace of God, I am still here and manage to make it through each day.  I continue to take life "One small step at a time"...praying I will find the strength to face each day with some sense of dignity and grace.

Another New Year....

     It's New Years Eve again...another one without Ryan here.  I look back over the past year and realize that although I remember so many details, I also remember nothing.  It is a year of my life which came and went, with little heart felt participation by me.  I did my best under the circumstances, so make no apologies.
     I have learned a lot over the past year.  I have learned what REAL friends are, and am FOREVER grateful for those people in my life.  I have heard people say they didn't know what to say...which I so genuinely appreciated.  I have also heard the deafening silence of others.  I have watched people endlessly try to show their support through words or actions... I have witnessed those who chose not to do either.  I have been blessed by people who freely and lovingly talk about, and listen to me, as I talk about my son...I have been deeply hurt by those who don't speak of him, or seem to listen as I do.  I have been greatly blessed by Ryan's friends...their love for Ryan has carried me through the darkest of days, and continues to do so.  They love, honor, and remember him always.  I could never thank them enough for showing me how important he was, and still is, in their lives.  In return, they have become very important in mine.  I have learned again how incredible my family is...they have been there, and continue to be there, as this painful journey continues.   They can't heal me, as much as they wish they could,  but they have shown me over and over that Ryan really mattered to them, and that my hurting heart also matters.  What a gift they have given me...Ryan would be proud.  
     Probably the greatest thing I have learned is to take care of myself...to love myself.  Being in such a broken place, you realize how important it is to take care of yourself...because you are so vulnerable and fragile.  I have learned to do things to nurture my spirit, and I do them.  Trips to the coast, writing my blog, time alone, allowing the tears to come, listening to my heart, etc...  I have learned who to let close, and who to keep distant...all out of doing what is best for my heart and soul.  I have learned to set boundaries...protecting my heart and the heart of my family.  I never tolerated judgmental people very well, but now I have no tolerance, so keep those people clear of my life.  I am learning that it does not matter what people think of me...something Ryan had already understood.  As Ryan once said to me..."I know my heart, and if someone is judging me and chooses not to see it, that's their loss."  In all of this, I am learning to love myself the way I know I am suppose to.  
     So as another new year approaches, I am feeling very solemn and nostalgic.  I am missing Ryan more with each day...what I thought would get easier, is in fact, getting harder.  In this sadness, I am also trying to see the gifts I have been given.  I know Ryan would want me to nurture and love myself...I KNOW that.  I will continue to try and do this...I want to make him proud.

Grieving Mothers....

I found this on a Grieving Mothers page...it so accurately described my heart that I wanted to capture it in my blog.  I have felt many of these emotions and I'm sure anyone else who has lost a child will also feel the power in these words...

1. I wish you would not be afraid to speak my child's name. My child lived and was important and I need to hear his name.

2. If I cry or get emotional if we talk about ... my child, I wish you knew that it  isn't because you have hurt me.  The fact that my child has died has caused my tears.  You have allowed me to cry and I thank you. Crying and sometimes unexpected emotions are healing.

3. I wish you wouldn't ignore or act like my child never existed  by removing from your home his pictures, artwork, or other reminders of this very special person who lived and made a contribution to all of our lives.

4. I will have emotional highs and lows, ups and downs. I wish you wouldn't think that if I have a good day my grief is all over, or that if I have a bad day I need psychiatric counseling. My erratic and unpredictable mood swings , from exhilaration to hopelessness, are as unpredictable by me, as they are by you. This is part of my new "normal"  life. 

5. I wish you knew that the death of a child is different  from other losses and must be viewed separate. It is the ultimate tragedy  in a persons life. I wish you wouldn't compare it to your loss of a parent, a friend, a spouse, or a pet.

6. Being a bereaved parent in not contagious, so I wish you would not shy away from me .   I need you and you need me.

7. I wish you knew of all the "crazy" grief reactions that I have are, in fact, are very normal. Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, and the questioning of values and beliefs are to be expected following the death of a child. 

8. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. Please do not think because my "time period"  is over that I am a  "former bereaved parent" ...I'll forever more be a "recovering bereaved parent."   Please don't tell me how I should "cope" or that "it is time to move on" or "someday there will be closure."   The word "closure' is a convenient , faddish media term that is absolute and complete nonsense and meaningless.

9. I wish you understood the physical reactions to grief.   I may gain weight or lose weight, sleep all the time or not at all,  develop a host of illnesses, be accident prone or forgetful, all of which may be related to my grief.   I may become isolated and withdrawn for periods of time.   I may not even be able to talk on the phone or return phone calls.

10. Our child's birthday , the anniversary of their death and holidays are terrible times for us.  I wish you would tell us that you are thinking of our child on these days,  and if we get quiet and withdrawn, just know that we are thinking of our child and don't try to coerce us into being cheerful.  If nothing else, I wish you would call once in a while and say,  "Hi, I was thinking about you."  Or just a friendly note or word, "Just wanted to let you know i was thinking of you today and hope things are OK." 

11. It is normal and good that most of us re-examine our faith , values and beliefs after losing a child.  We will question things we have been taught all our lives, and hopefully, come to some new understanding with my God.  I wish you would let me tangle with my religion without making me feel guilty. 

12. I wish you would understand that grief changes people.  I am NOT  the same person I was before my child died and I will never be that person again. If you keep waiting and encouraging me to  "get back to my old self" you will be disappointed, discouraged and frustrated.  I am a new creature, not by choice, but by circumstances... with new thoughts, new dreams, aspirations, goals, priorities, values, and beliefs.  Please try to get to know the new me...maybe you will still like me. 


~ Author Unknown

The Second Thanksgiving....

     For many different reasons, we decided to stay home for Thanksgiving, surrounding ourselves in the peace of our own home.  Sean and Kaitie were at their dad's house, so it was just the four of us.  I spent the day cooking, trying to stay focused on that alone.   It was very nice, and I thought I had gotten through it quite well overall.  The older kids came over in the evening, which was very comforting.  When I went to bed I realized how much I had controlled my emotions and thoughts that day.  How I deliberately tried to focus on what was at hand, versus what I was missing.  I had succeeded, but when I lay in the quiet, I could not escape the sadness of what was missing...Ryan.  I felt so deeply sad as I lay there in the realization that holidays would never be as they once were.  How do I deal with that?
     Today, I started pulling out the Christmas decorations.  I knew if I didn't get that ball rolling quickly, I wouldn't want to do it at all.  Last year as I began that process, I was doing it to make things as normal for the other kids as I could.  Today as I did it, I felt it was more of a habit then anything.  I moved slowly, felt very anxious inside, and just wanted to do what I had to do...and do it alone.  I remembered how I would always play Christmas music and make a fun day of decorating.  It felt so joyful to fix the house up...it brought comfort, peace, and love to all of us.  Today I just went through the motions...AGAIN, going through the motions.  I heard the neighbors doing lights outside, all together in laughter and completeness.  I remember those days, and that complete joy.  Although I can remember the joy, I can't remember what it felt like anymore.  That is the sad reality of what has happened to my heart.  I have spent most of the day crying, as I pushed myself through, doing what I needed to do...making things as normal as I could for everyone else.
     We often took family pictures at this time of year and used it for our Christmas card.  We haven't taken a family picture since Ryan died, and quite honestly, I don't know when I will ever be able to do that again, if ever.  How do you take a family picture when one of your children is now gone?  
     I spend most of the first year making sure my kids and husband were alright, at least as alright as they could be.  I continue to do this, but I also spend more time looking within.  I must say, it's a very sad place to look.  I realize I am still taking One Small Step At A Time.  I don't know that I have made any progress with this grief...I don't know if that's even possible?  I have gone through all "the firsts", and here it is the second Thanksgiving.   It honestly feels worse then it did last year.  I genuinely believe that has something to do with the shock factor, and the protection that provides.  Maybe part of it is also the fact that since it's been a year, many people naturally assume you are better.  Maybe it's both?  I really don't know, and to be honest, I guess it really doesn't matter...it just is.   Life feels very lonely right now.
     I look at this picture, and I realize things will never be whole for me again.  One of my babies is gone, and a large part of me went with him.  So events which focus on family...Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, family gatherings....all just magnify the fact that life is NOT the same...it will never be again.  Ryan is gone, my son has died, and that has forever changed me, and my life.  Today I am really feeling the devastating pain of that reality.

The "Firsts" Are Over....???

     I have just passed the anniversary of Ryan's Memorial (Oct 15th), so the "firsts" are officially over.  At least that is what I am told.  I survived each new month without him, my first birthday, the first birthdays of my other children, the first holidays, Ryan's first birthday, the first mother's day, and the painful and devastating first anniversary of his death.  I knew each of these firsts would be a slippery stepping stone which I would never forget...but I also hoped somehow  once the "firsts" were completed, a glimmer of light would appear in my world again.  That somehow I would miraculously feel whole again.  I was very, very wrong. 
     Each morning when I awake, I hit my snooze button and think of Ryan.  I wonder how I will survive another day, if I will manage again to forge through the emptiness, or if I will find a reason to smile.  The alarm goes off again, and I force myself up and begin to go through the motions of yet another day.  Going through the motions...that seems to be all I do now.  I go to work, giving all I am capable of giving...wondering if I'll ever feel the passion I use to feel.  I get home and do what needs to be done, again giving all I am capable of giving...homework, dinner, showers, attention, etc..., all the while looking forward to crawling into my bed.  The place I can be alone and NOT pretend to be someone I no longer am.  I'm still unsure of who I am or what I'm mean't to be, but it is very clear I spend most of my day being what people think I should be...or perhaps what I think they need me to be.  Somehow I have gotten lost and I'm not sure if anyone even realizes that?
     This is a time of year I always loved.  The season was changing, and with it seemed to bring a comfort of being at home more with my family.  With that came the realization that the holidays were coming, another time to focus on my children...all their joy and love.  Now this time of year haunts me.  I have a painfully, piercing understanding that nothing is right inside my heart anymore, and I can't imagine how it ever could be again. My child is gone...nothing is right.  With this realization, comes a darkness I can not even begin to describe.  In fact, it is so overwhelming at times, that I put great effort into pushing it away, hoping and praying one day I'll feel strong enough to face it.  It literally takes my breath away.
     What I have come to realize is this...each and every day is a "first" day without Ryan.  There is no relief, no glimmer of light, no sense of wholeness, and no feelings of accomplishment for surviving the "firsts."   For me, the "firsts" are never ending.

One Year....

         I had no idea of what to expect as this time and date approached, although I had been warned of the turmoil that awaited me.  I have learned over the past year NOT to be surprised at what each day may hold, or where my emotions may take me.  This grief seems to have a life of it's own, and I have tried very hard to just accept that hard fact.
     Today, the eve of the One Year, I feel just as I did a year ago.  The only difference is...I don't have the shock to mysteriously protect me.  I miss the shelter it provided, but know I must move forward with this heart wrenching reality, no matter how painful it is.  And...it is more painful then words could ever express.
     Physically, I have an endless pit in my stomach, my head is pounding relentlessly, and I feel nauseous.   Emotionally, I feel the gut wrenching panic, the disbelief, the uncertainty, the isolation, the endless fear, the overwhelming concern for my other kids, the self doubt in my ability to survive, the moments of not caring if I do, and the indescribable sadness in my heart and soul....my little boy is gone and my life on this earth will never be the same without him physically here.    What does that mean for me?  For us?  I still don't have that answer, I only know we have all changed so very deep within.
     Others may think I should be focusing on the good memories right now.  I try very hard to do that, although it never takes away the sadness.  Sometimes it brings moments of  joy, and other times it actually makes it harder.  Right now, in this moment, I am incapable of focusing on memories.  What was once my life with Ryan, is now only memories.  The loss in that is so overwhelming at this stage, that all I can do is just breathe.  
     I have witnessed great pain in my other children.  Pain I could not take away, but only try to help them through.  In recent days I have see that pain surfacing with great force.  I realize in those moments, that they, like myself, just try to carry on...all the while the sadness is deep inside, and never gone.
      I have spent a lot of time today remembering the day before Ryan died...the talking we did, the dinner he ate, going into his room numerous times to check on him, him coming out to me with questions or things to share, the last words I said to him, and him to me.  In 30 minutes, it will be a year since I last talked to Ryan, since I last heard his sweet and loving voice.  The intensity of missing him is so fierce, I can not even find words to describe it.  
      The one thing I am so very grateful for is I have not one regret.  Ryan knew how much I loved him, and I knew how much he loved me.  Our relationship was a close, open, and honest.  We had a respect for each other which I will always carry.  We often talked about how we really understood each other.  We were so similar, in so many ways, that our hearts instinctively knew each other on a level we didn't even understand.  I understand now, and I know he does too.
     One Year....I have survived, and grown spiritually... we all have.  But at this painful moment in the journey, I feel as I did the day Ryan died... I feel broken.


     

As One Year Approaches....

     The days seem to be so very long right now, while the nights, which are my escape, become shorter.  So many thoughts and feelings rush through me each day.  I find myself lost in thoughts of Ryan...the day he was taken from my arms, how we have each survived the pain thus far, all the living Ryan will miss, and the painful realization that I have to live the rest of my life on this earth without him here with me.  Sometimes that reality alone is almost too much to endure.      
     As the anniversary date approaches, I find my emotions are very raw, and my anxiety continues to build.  I go through my day and do what is expected of me, but I can't seem to do more then that.  My motivation and focus is almost non existent as I move through each passing day.  At work, I find myself staring off, lost in thoughts.  At times I feel utterly stunned by losing Ryan, and at other times the tears come without warning.  At those moments I am consumed in anguish, and do all I can to hide from the feelings...the pain, loss, and sadness is just too much at times.  It feels as if I have no control over what I think or feel anymore.  I am just swept away like a tide in an ever changing ocean...turning, pushing, pulling, crashing, exploding on rocks, calmly retreating...only to repeat the turmoil once again.  I am learning I can't fight it, rather I have to accept the emotional turmoil which is now my life.
     I have no doubt the painful reality of losing Ryan is what begins to fill me now.  I would give my life to change this reality, to bring my little boy home again.  Sadly, this possiblity is not mine. To hold him close, look into his beautiful blue eyes so full of life, glory in his contagious smile, hear his calming voice, drown in his beautiful laughter, tell him I love him, and hear him tell me the same...these are now just memories.  What use to be my daily life, are now just memories and dreams...I can't imagine anything more sad then that.  I miss my sweet boy so very much.

Eleven months of surviving....

     I find it very hard to believe 11 months have come and gone since the day my world was changed forever.  I have carried pain which words are incapable of expressing.  Words....they always came so easily to me, and now they don't seem to hold enough meaning to accurately express what my heart feels so deeply.  The words seem to carry the same emptiness I feel within my very being.  Despite this, my words and writing seem to be the only way to release some of the turmoil, which seems to build with each passing day.  I think people probably assume it is getting easier, that I'm doing good.  They see me smile and carry on with life.  If they don't ask.... I don't share.  I'm sure many of them have lost people in their lives, and probably compare losing a child to that grief.  I, too, have lost many people in my life, and it has hurt deeply.  But losing a child does not compare to any other loss I have endured.  Losing a child is in an unspeakable world of it's own.  It literally turns your world upside down and inside out.   If you haven't experienced it,  you can't begin to understand the devastation.  I completely understand and respect that reality.  When they say it's the hardest loss there is....they are right.  You don't get over it and move on.  You just don't.  Sadly, some people actually feel it works that way.  They obviously have never lost a child or those thoughts would never cross their minds, or words pass through their lips.   Since you will never get over it, I suppose all you can do is survive.  Each day brings the painful challenge to do just that.
     As the one year anniversary approaches , I am filled with anxiety and sadness.  I am feeling the devastation that is about to come, as if it hadn't happened yet.  As the time approaches, I am triggered daily by things which take me back to the horror which no one should have to live through. Each day brings tears, prompted by many different triggers.  The sadness builds, and the tears increase.   The day I lost Ryan, I wondered how I would ever survive.  I knew I was changed as a woman forever, even though I did not know what that meant for me.  Eleven months later, I still don't know what it means, yet I know I am very different.  I AM surviving, but in all honesty (and contrary to what most people believe) the reality and devastation of this tragedy grows stronger with time.  Perhaps the shock is slowly wearing off?  The protection of those walls are beginning to fall...and it leaves me afraid, alone, empty, heart broken, and so incredibly sad.

Another School Year Approaches....

     It seems like yesterday when MHS called to ask if they could dedicate a yearbook page to Ryan.  I was so touched and honored, not so much for myself, but for Ryan.  This kind and loving gesture spoke so clearly to me of the impact Ryan had on so many lives.  Now, the first summer without him has come and gone, and a new school year is about to begin.  The summer, which Ryan always loved, felt lonely.  I found myself reflecting on last summer, and all the joy Ryan experienced.  I missed him here with me.   As the school year approaches,  my heart is filling with sadness of what could have been.
     This school year would have been Ryan's senior year.  A year he was so looking forward to.  School shopping one last time, senior pictures, the joy of knowing it's your last year, celebrating with friends, choosing the path you want after school ends, the senior trip, the senior prom, and the moment of graduation....that moment of pride, success, accomplishment, and freedom.  Experiences which we all assume our children will have, are now just painful reminders of what could have been.
     All of the possibilities and opportunities that awaited him have been taken away.  Although I know he is happy now, and feel so much gratitude for his peace,  I can't help but think about all of the life he will never live.  He was at the threshold of new beginnings, and it all came to a sudden end.  As I watch his friends begin to talk about and celebrate their senior year, and as we begin to prepare for the new school year, I am left with such a deep sadness.  I know the year will be hard, and I will feel the struggle with every important step I watch his friends take.  Although I will celebrate their joy, and sincerely wish them love and happiness, I will also feel the sadness of Ryan missing each of those steps.  That reality is already piercing my heart.   I will walk with, and encourage his friends... I know Ryan would want me to do that.  In doing so, perhaps I will help keep Ryan with them on their journeys.   
     I know God's Grace has carried me this far, and I pray it will continue to carry me. I pray I will be able to walk through what would have been Ryan's senior year with a sense of dignity, courage, and strength.  Even more then this, may I continue to honor Ryan, and the legacy  he left, with every breath I take.